


white christmas

by clarkelexa



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Christmas pick up lines, F/M, I hate myself, Merry Christmas, i laughed while writing this, i want to punch myself in the face for the title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkelexa/pseuds/clarkelexa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>bellamy and clarke are alone at a bar on christmas eve, and what does one do in that situation besides tell cheesy christmas pick up lines? clarke is better at it, obviously</p>
            </blockquote>





	white christmas

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i don't even know. i barely edited, as usual. feedback would be bomb

The bar was called Guido’s, which alone put Clarke in a bad mood. What kind of name is that? Maybe it’s the owner’s last name, she reasons, I should work on my judgy-ness. 

The main room is small. The ceiling is wood, the floors are wood, the walls are wood. There’s a rustic feel to it, not something Clarke would expect from a bar called Guido’s. Right, thinks Clarke, family name.

Multi- colored lights hang from the walls. The room is dimmed, there’s a mini Christmas tree on the counter. Clarke wants to rip it all down, throw it all out. She doesn’t want any reminders that it’s Christmas Eve, and that this is what she’s doing with hers.

She expected to be alone at the bar tonight, had expected that most people would be with their friends and families. But, annoyingly enough, there’s another sad soul present. Two stools down, on her left. Stirring his beer with his pinky finger. Gross. Unsanitary.  
Clarke takes a shot.

“Another,” she tells the barkeeper. His nametag reads Miller. Miller looks at her warily, but obeys. She’s said that word a lot tonight.

Clarke looks at the boy again. His hair is dark, his skin is tan, dusted in freckles. Cute, she thinks, and looks away.

This time last year, Clarke wasn’t alone at a place named Guido’s with a bartender named Miller and a cute dark-haired boy with freckles dusting his face. She was with her friends, Wells and Raven, and her boyfriend Finn.

But Wells is dead, Raven is away earning her Masters, and Finn is gone.

She takes another shot.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting on top of the tree, Angel?” The boy said this, the boy with the dark hair. He’s looking at her now.

“What,” Clarke says, because, what.

The boy shrugs, “I don’t know, I thought it was a good one.”

Clarke squints her eyes at him, stares for a few seconds, before answering, “there are so many good Christmas pick up lines to choose from, and you pick that one? Pathetic.”

The boy smirks, takes a sip of his beer, “like you could do better,” and adds, “I’m Bellamy.”

Clarke thinks for a second. “I’m Clarke,” she says, “but call me Rudolph, because you just sleighed me.”

The boy- Bellamy- chokes on his beer. Clarke is pleased. Between laughs, “okay, I admit, that was good,” he pauses, “do you live in an igloo? Because you seem like a pretty cool person.”

Clarke is ready. “You can take me home tonight, but only if Yuletide-y up your place.”

Bellamy squints, “I don’t get it.”

“Yuletide-y up your place? Yule. Tide. Jesus,” Clarke shakes her head, takes a shot. She’s kinda drunk by now.

“Oh,” Bellamy says, with a face that says he’s thinking hard, “got it now. I didn’t think I was a snowman, but you just made my heart melt.” A winning smile follows this. He really is cute.

“Aw,” says Clarke. She has about twenty lined up in her head by now. “If your left leg is Thanksgiving and your right leg is Christmas, can I come visit between the holidays?”

Bellamy laughs in disbelief, leaning back in his stool. He cocks his head at her, “so that’s how we’re doing this?” she raises an eyebrow, “okay,” pause, “so you want to meet Santa’s little helper? He’s not so little, if you know what I mean.” The winning smile is now a winning smirk.

Clarke can’t help it this time, she laughs, stifling it with the palm of her hand. But she’s ready, “how about I slip down your chimney at half past midnight?”

“You should be wearing a mistletoe on your bellybutton so I could kiss you properly,” he shoots back, the smirk is ever present, and Clarke considers kissing it right of his face. She’s really drunk.

“If you want a white Christmas, I can jingle your balls,” because things are escalating and she needs to one up him. There’s one stool in between them now. Bellamy’s leaning on the counter, laughing, eyes bright.

“I have the stamina of a jolly, fat man,” when he has a breath, “I can go all night long.” Clarke is laughing too now, in a way she hasn’t in a while. It’s probably because she’s drunk.

The bartender, Miller, clears his throat. He looks uncomfortable. Clarke forgot about him. Clarke looks at Bellamy, and they stare at each other, the way drunk people do when they think they’re both in on some kind of hilarious secret joke.

Both are quiet for a while, drunks trying to control themselves, but Clarke is a rebellious drunk, so, after a few minutes, “what do you say we make this a not-so-silent night?”

Bellamy has been holding back laughter, and it all bursts out now, and Clarke’s starts to bubble over. Miller looks pissed off and a little exasperated.

Clarke’s last pick up line may or may not have worked. They may or may not have actually gone through with it. Merry Christmas, yeah.


End file.
